Chapter 42 —
Rustle
Claude felt something fall from what he had picked up, but he didn’t care in the slightest.
The blood-red-stained gloves stuck annoyingly to his hand again and again, but that was nothing new, so it didn’t matter.
He stared quietly at what had once been someone’s head, then casually tossed it aside.
“It’s not here.”
Strange.
The whole purpose of this massacre—the black magic tome Lemegeton, which contained the method to summon the 72 demons—was nowhere to be found.
On a whim, he even checked whether some cunning fellow had swallowed it to hide it inside their body, but still, the Lemegeton was gone.
The book hadn’t sprouted legs and walked out on its own.
That meant someone who survived must have taken it.
“Ah…”
A certain figure crossed his mind.
“Khh, khhhuhuhu…”
Laughter leaked out through his clenched teeth.
What an unbelievably fascinating human. It was the first time he had ever felt this way about a human. Was this how those so-called “human enthusiasts” began?
Thinking that, Claude rose to his feet.
Humans, sensing the commotion, were starting to swarm in. It wasn’t the right time yet—he needed to hide.
“There are too many humans. Like cockroaches.”
Disgustingly many. Worse still, a handful of mutations among them possessed powers capable of opposing black magicians.
“No… I must endure and wait. Until everything is perfectly prepared.”
Because they still remembered, deep in their bones, the failure of their ancestors three hundred years ago. There was no need to repeat the same mistake.
Humans were weak, but they were numerous and persistent. To put an end to that stubborn vitality, patience was required.
Humans…
Certain images came to mind when he thought of them: eyes clouded with greed, greasy groping hands, prying gazes—eyes, eyes, eyes…
Throb. Claude absentmindedly rubbed the back of his right hand.
—Ho. To think this thing still exists. It’s been a while.
Rev muttered with interest as he looked at the black magic tome carefully stored away in the basement.
“Do you know what kind of book it is?”
—Of course I do. Commonly called the ‘Lemegeton.’ Some crazy demon got bored and scribbled detailed descriptions of the 72 demons and their summoning methods, then spread it around. It’s basically a flyer.
“Hearing it put that way makes it sound so cheap.”
A demon summoning book—this was entirely different from what I had expected.
“So there’s nothing in it besides summoning demons? No black magic combat techniques or anything…?”
—Nothing. Didn’t I just say it’s a flyer?
“Ugh.”
All that effort for nothing? Well, at least it was meaningful to keep something this dangerous out of the enemy’s hands… but still.
“It would’ve been nice if it were a book filled with cool attack spells.”
—I don’t know why you waste your energy on such nonsense. Remember what I told you: every black magician has their own specialty.
“Right.”
—And your specialty isn’t direct combat. It’s forming contracts with demons and borrowing their power. You’re suited to be a demon summoner.
“Really?”
His confident tone somehow swayed me.
“But how would you know that, Rev, when even I don’t?”
—Hmph. Don’t ask the obvious!
Rev smacked the ground with his tail.
—Didn’t you summon me yourself?!
“…Ah, right.”
I was an idiot for taking him seriously. My half-hearted answer only made him screech again.
—Damnable contractor! As if trapping me in the body of this pathetic creature weren’t enough, you dare treat me like this?!
I let his familiar complaints wash over me.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. More importantly, Rev—do you know any way to break black magic that manipulates memory?”
Now that training myself with the tome was out of the question, I couldn’t help but sigh. I needed to rescue Natalie from Penelope’s clutches as soon as possible.
—Hm? Sounds like you’ve met someone interesting. Memory manipulation is a pretty tricky kind of black magic.
“I asked if there’s a way or not.”
Complimenting the enemy’s skill only annoyed me. At my impatient reply, Rev tapped the ground proudly with his tail.
—Of course there is.
His eyes narrowed.
*—If you use that Lemegeton.
“…The Lemegeton? You want me to summon a demon?”
I frowned, and Rev clicked his tongue. I still had no idea how a cat’s mouth structure allowed for that sound.
—Similar, but not quite! Remember how I told you a black magician’s power is fundamentally borrowed from demons?
“Ah, yeah.”
—Exactly. Black magic is originally a demon’s innate power. Demons merely grant permission for black magicians to use it.
I had heard this from him before, back when he was desperate to teach me black magic.
—Because that way, it’s easier to feed on human despair. And if they can claim the human’s soul through a contract, all the better.
“And?”
—That means this ‘memory manipulation’ power also originates from a demon.
I nodded. Seeing me finally pay attention, Rev lifted his chin high.
—And yet you still don’t get it?
“I don’t.”
*—The demon who granted that memory manipulation ability will be listed in the Lemegeton!
“Oh… that does make sense.”
—So, summon it, offer an appropriate price, and request that it withdraw the black magic. It will comply.
“An appropriate price,” huh. I couldn’t even guess the scale of what a demon would demand.
In holy war chronicles, black magicians were often depicted burning down entire villages to wield great power. Was that for a similar reason?
“No other way?”
—Naturally there is! Make a contract with me! Offer me your soul, and that petty black magician will be nothing…!
“Ah, yeah. Got it.”
The moment he fell back on his usual line, I lost interest.
—One day you’ll realize the greatness of this body…!
Myaaaoooow! His pitiful feline wails filled the mansion.
“Good morning.”
The next morning, the moment I arrived at work, I ran into Zion. He seemed to have gotten to the office much earlier than me.
On the table in front of him sat a teacup, its steam long gone.
“…Good morning.”
I forced myself to greet him calmly.
I had known he was here even before opening the office door—my pounding heart had already warned me.
Ever since Tristan had given his approval, Zion had occasionally come into the office. The classified documents were stored separately anyway, so Tristan apparently didn’t mind.
Thanks to that, I feel like I’m dying every time.
Keeping a businesslike smile on my lips, I spoke.
“What brings you here today?”
“I have something to discuss with His Highness the Crown Prince. Ah, would you care for a cup of tea?”
Zion replied with a gentle smile.
As if I want to.
How many black magicians in the world would ever want to sit down and have tea with a saint?
“Of course, it would be an honor.”
When in doubt, play along. I set aside the stack of overdue documents and decided to host the guest first.
Clink.
Tea was poured into a new cup, and the fragrant aroma filled the office.
“My first feeling toward you is one of guilt.”
“…Pardon?”
“For dragging you into something so dangerous.”
“Oh, no. Strictly speaking, I’m involved already. The black magicians are targeting the House of Walker, after all. If anything, I should be thanking you.”
My smooth reply deepened the gentle smile on Zion’s face. He was a man whose true thoughts were impossible to read.
“I had heard much about you. You seem to be such a kind person, my lady.”
Huh, really?
If it had come from anyone else, I would’ve taken it as a normal compliment. But I had already half figured Zion out.
He’s mastered the art of beguiling others with his looks.
The fact that he came and went from this office so freely after just one meeting said it all. What sweet talk had he fed the guards?
Even Villadoc now praises the saint every time they meet…
Impressive, in a way.
Still, whenever someone like him complimented me, it usually meant they wanted something.
I braced myself.
“Come to think of it, how long have you worked with His Highness the Crown Prince?”
“As a secretary, about four years now.”
“And with matters involving black magicians?”
Ah, here we go—the real subject. I recognized it immediately but feigned ignorance.
“Let’s see… not even a few months yet.”
“A dangerous line of work. That’s quite the decision.”
“Is it? It’s simply something I must do.”
I replied with a shy smile. The trick to dealing with this type was actually quite simple.
Play the fool.
I deliberately widened my eyes, putting on an innocent expression, and said something Zion himself would never have voiced.
“But really, Saint, you’re so handsome. I thought it before, but now that I see you up close, even more so!”
Splutter.
Zion choked on his tea and burst into a coughing fit.
